deep space
by Alice Rider
Summary: Keith leaves for the Blade of Marmora and Lance completely baffled. Set between seasons 4 and 5 (though most likely way off canon)
1. chapter 1

It was the painful truth of warfare that innocents died in slaughters and the good guys were nothing more than glorified murderers.

War was the price for peace, and the paladins were paying that bill tossing and turning in their bunks night after night after night, with a myriad of fear laced flashbacks that drained more energy than fitful sleep allowed. But something close to restful slumber could be found in the familiar warmth of someone to hold onto when the sense of dread overwhelmed in the dead of night, and nightmares kept at bay with whispered reassurances that maybe, just maybe, everything would be ok in the end.

So the quiet knock at Lance's door was neither unusual nor surprising, and finding one bedraggled Keith, hair mussed and eyes bruised, had become a commonplace sight at his doorstep.

Tongue heavy, head blurry, Lance simply stepped aside to allow Keith entrance, halfway turning to retreat into the warmth of his covers when cold fingers locked around his wrist and stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Keith?" The name dropped from Lance's lips low, gravelly, hazed with exhaustion and confusion. "What's wrong?"

Keith's eyes, sharp, bright, sliced through the fog of weariness as they flicked up to look at him, then down where his grip had Lance rooted to the spot, and back up to Lance before he spoke.

"I'm leaving tomorrow. For the Blade." In the darkness of the Castle's empty halls, his words echoed.

"Oh." Lance's words struggled past the lump in his throat, but he couldn't tell if it had managed to smother the hope in them. "Did you change your mind?"

A deep breath. "No. No, this is something I have to do." Violet eyes glanced away; blunt nails bit into warm skin. "I just--I needed to, to get something off my chest. Before I go."

Lance's heart skipped. "What is it?"

Keith's eyes met his and fled in the space of a heartbeat. "Lance, I-- I," a shaky exhale; when Lance found Keith's gaze again, it had dulled. "I-- I'm-- Shit, I'm sorry."

Keith was kissing him.

 _Tick_.

Pale fingers clamped around handfuls of Lance's collar, lips pressed urgently against his.

 _Tick_.

Eyes wide, heart in his throat, Lance couldn't find the air.

 _Tick_.

It was over and Keith was gone, vanished into the shadows of the Castle, before Lance's lungs could relearn their function and his legs could stop trembling.

The next morning, Keith's bedroom was empty and Coran discovered a shuttle had been launched in the middle of the night.


	2. ch 2

Anger was not Lance's forte, so when Coran reported the disappearance of one of the ship's shuttles, Lance stood, politely--if a bit out of breath--excused himself from the breakfast table, locked himself in his bedroom, and screamed.

Permeable walls be damned, he yelled and cursed and ranted until his voice grew hoarse and cracked; so when his voice gave out and the blood still roared in his ears, Lance punched the wall. Again. And again. And again, until his fingers trembled and his knuckles bled.

Hunk caught him in the infirmary after that, bandaging his bruised hands, but between the worry in Hunk's voice and the bile churning in Lance's stomach, the only response to Hunk' s "Are you ok, man? What happened?" was a barked and biting "I'm fine!" before Lance was shoving his way out of the med bay to retreat into his room.

Anger was a restless, abrasive itch that gnawed at the corner of Lance's every thought, that kept him wide awake and tangled in his sheets with an irksome amount of excess pent up energy.

In the end, he gave up on sleep with a low grunt, trudging out of bed to grab his bayard.

By the time the sixth bot fell to its knees, Lance's chest heaved as he fought for breath, sweat poured down his brow, his legs trembled from exhaustion, and his arms screamed in protest as they held his bayard to his shoulder, but the tight spring coiled in his gut constricting kept him standing.

He just wanted to sleep.

"Begin simulation." Every muscle tensed, sending a fresh wave of pain up his spine, as another bot droped the ceiling, staff in hand.

His next steps stumbled, and as the metal staff whizzed by his ear, Lance bit back a curse, aimed his rifle at the bot's chest and pulled the trigger; the bot dropped, but its metal limbs freaked as it began to straighten itself.

"Lance? What are you doing?"

He whirled to find Pidge leaning against the doorway, eyes bleary behind her glasses. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that tumbled out was a pained groan as the bot smacked him square across the back and clear across the arena.

"End simulation!" Pidge raced over to his side as Lance struggled to lift himself from the floor, but Lance batted her hands away with a growl, still on his knees. "Get off! Get off me!" She reached to steady him as he wavered, but drew her hands back when he scowled. "What the hell do you want?"

Podge recoiled. "I--I thought I heard the bots going and I came to see what. . . and you're never here so late so--"

"I'm fine!" There was no stopping the roar in his voice or the tremor of his fists. "I'm fine. All I want is to is train in peace! Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Shit. Lance slapped a hand over his mouth too late. Shit shit shit. Pidge stepped back, eyes wide and wet as her face flushed red. She was out the door before Lance could stop her; lead in his bones weighing him down, he didn't reach her door until well after she'd locked it.

"Pidge," he croaked, sliding down her door in tired defeat, "Pidge, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her door remained resolutely shut, but the quiet sniffles from just beyond twisted his insides with enough guilt to flush away the anger as he pleaded for her to open the door.

The next thing Lance was acutely aware of was the gentle swish of a door opening and the sharp smack to the back of his head as he tumbled backwards through it. Pidge loomed over him, the devious smirk on her face not quite able to disguise the puffiness of her eyes.

Lance fumbled to his feet, catching her in a rib shattering embrace against his chest. "I'm so sorry! I am so so so sorry. I never meant to yell at you. I was angry and tired, and I know that's no excuse for what I said, but I really am so sorry, Pidge." She was too short to nuzzle his face in her hair, so he settled for squeezing the rest of the air out of her lungs. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Her arms snaked their way around his middle after a few breaths, effectively burying herself against his chest. "Yeah," She mumbled into the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah, I forgive you."

The wave relief didn't quite soothe the sting of guilt, but it was a start. They stood there, wrappes in each other's arms until the ticks flew by, until Pidge laughed softly, "Wanna go splatter Hunk with food goo while he's sleeping?"

"Hell yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

The Blade of Marmora was, unfortunately, a necessary evil.

Not that Lance held any kind of disdain for the order; they were powerful allies in the war against Zarkon, and it was worlds easier to trust their intel than Lotor's; but meetings with the Blade made Lance want to claw his eyes out.

At the very least, the bitter taste in his mouth had faded after the fifth conference or so, when it became apparent that Kolivan would be the only one dealing with Team Voltron. Lance was. . . trying to be ok with it; that hollow pang in his chest hurt a little less without having to state Keith in the face and pretend nothing happened.

Though no amount of one sided pining was going to change the fact that listening to Kolivan talk statistics was like watching paint dry. At least being shot at got the pulse going.

So Lance lagged behind the group, legs heavy and shoulders slumped, as they made their way to yet another check in with the Blade, and Lance was already so decidedly bored of the ridiculous amount of politics in warfare that he hadn't even registered Keith standing in Kolivan's shadow until he smiled with a quiet, "Hi guys."

And yup, that was definitely a punch to the gut. Lance's jaw set, hands clenched at his side as his blood boiled. Damn it all; after all this time without a single word and now Keith to show his face?

But Pidge's arm absently rubbed against him and the heat in his face faded just as quickly as it has colored his cheeks, exchanged for a nervous knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat he couldn't swallow.

Lance vaguely noted that the meeting had started, but the mumbled hum of Allura's voice was lost in the pounding in his ears. It was probably something important and almost definitely something he should be paying more attention to, but his focus remained glued to Keith, Keith and the hard line of his mouth, Keith and his gaze fixed firmly on Allura, Keith and his stupid mullet--

"Lance?"

Oh. When had the Olkari chimed in? Lance jolted upright, a crack in his voice as he fumbled for words; though he'd no sooner apologized for the lapse in attention than he was glancing back at Keith, catching his gaze for only a tick before it swept away again.

Keith's eyes didn't land on Lance again for the rest of the exchange, but the nervous stutter in Lance's chest never quelled, and halfway through the meeting, he resorted to bouncing his leg expeditiously in a vain attempt to burn off anxious energy before he exploded.

Though as it turned out, the tight feeling in his chest was lack of air; when the monitors clicked off, Lance let out a strangled sigh he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"You alright there, bud?"

"What?" Lance had to tear his eyes from the black screen, tugging his lips into a smile he was almost positive was off kilter. "Yeah man. Totally fine."

"Oooookay?" From behind Hunk, Pidge quirked her eyebrow at Lance, but remained gracefully silent. "Pidge bet me 50 Gac I couldn't make the food goo taste like lasagne. Wanna help me prove her wrong?"

Lance laughed, full belly and all, but Pidge rushed between them before they could bump knuckles, eyes ablaze.

"Oh no! The rules of this bet said you had to do this solo. Or are you calling it quits already?" Pidge stretches up as far as her petite frame would allow with that shit eating grin of hers, but she still only came up to Hunk's chest, and all Hunk had to do was thunk one finger against her forehead to knock her off balance.

"Uh, no. Lance is coming to make sure you don't sabotage me, you little gremlin."

"He can't stop me if he can't catch me!" And she was gone, tiny feet stomping as they raced down the hallway, evil cackle echoing behind her.

Hunk is off after her without missing a beat. "Oh no you don't! Come back here!"

Lance only manages three strides towards the door before a sturdy hand on his shoulder halts him.

The look Shiro gives him sends Lance's heart straight into the pit of his stomach. "Lance, are you alright? You seem off lately."

"I'm fine," bubbles to the top of his tongue almost automatically, but Lance bites his cheek as his eyes flicker to the blank monitor before offering Shiro a weak smile; he settles for a quiet, "I'm working on it."

"Alright." And even though Shiro's smile seems as broken as the unsteady rhythm Lance is trying to ignore in his chest, the hand on Lance's shoulder gave a gentle squeeze that made his quickened pulse calm. "I miss him too."


	4. chapter 4

"You need to work on your stance."

The voice behind Lance didn't register until it locked his arm mid-swing and the heel of the bot's boot was digging into his side.

"End simulation," wheezed last his lips as he heaved for breath on the floor, eyes wide and staring at the paladin leaning up against the wall that definitely hadn't been there a minute ago, or an hour ago, or all fucking week ago.

Lance's legs trembled and every gasp he sucked in burned a little, but his gaze didn't falter as he rose to his feet.

Now? Really? Keith had been back in the Castle for weeks, with intentions of staying of his dusted off paladin armor meant anything, but Lance hadn't even managed to be in the same room at the same time since his return. But now he shows up to judge his stance?

The knot coiled in his gut is the only thing that kept him standing faced with that smug smirk. "So what, are you done running, or are you just here to make fun of me?"

If the quip fazed him, Keith must've learned to not show it. "I was here to train, but watching you get your ass kicked is just as entertaining."

Lance's bayard clattered against the arena floor; three quavering strides let Lance grab two fistfuls of Keith's shirt. "Is this some kind of game to you? Do you think you can just kiss someone and run off without any consequences?" Keith's back met the wall with a whoosh as the air left his lungs; Lance's shaking hands loosen his grip. "You've been gone for months without a single word. Months! And then you come waltzing back in like you never left, pick up your uniform and take Red back, but you can't even look at me? You won't even eat breakfast in the same room but you think you can just come in here and critique my stance?"

There's a pregnant pause, but when Keith doesn't fill it, Lance's mouth keeps moving. "So is this some game? Did that night mean anything, or are you over that, too?"

Movements' worth of wishing granted him Keith's undivided attention, but now Lance can't stomach the pity on his stare. "Lance, I--"

If Keith starts sputtering excuses, Lance might actually puke, so he sealed his mouth against Keith's in a desperate attempt to stop the words like knives before they can do any more damage to his twisted insides.

Lance's head feels about three pounds lighter when he broke away, and while he can't actually feel his legs, they're hurridly carrying him towards the exit.

A hand on his wrist jolts him to a stop. "Lance, wait--"

The back of Lance's kunkles stung before he was even aware of it, but the wide eyed stare Keith was throwing at him, fingers faintly brushing over the already bruising skin of his cheek, coupled with a very angry, "Lance!" coming from an equally shell-shocked Shiro standing in the now open doorway confirm that, yes, Lance definitely just decked Keith in the face.

He was vaguely aware of Shiro shouting his name as he stalked past, fist clenched safely at his side lest they spring to life again, and Keith yelling something at Shiro, but Lance was gone, down the hallway and back in his room before his legs gave out.

Honestly, the weirdest thing about the Castle of Lions was the lack of a single clock. Granted keeping track of time wasn't exactly easy when hurtling through space in a giant castle-ship, not to mention the whole hours-to-vargas complication, but the sense of time flying by without any real way to keep track always sat funny in Lance's gut.

Tonight, however, marked the first time Lance was truly grateful for the ancient Altean's overlook, because without a clock counting down the ticks 'till morning, he didnt have to count the dobashes of sleep he was losing over Keith.

Lance kicked his sheets off with a huff, rolling over with another curse muffled into his pillow. After there solid weeks of this, of Keith being under the same roof and still light years away, or walking into a room only to watch Keith abruptly walk out, of all the senseless pining that kept his stomach in knots and his heart in his throat, Lance was about to lose his mind if he didn't get some real sleep soon.

There had to be something bugged with the Castle's climate control; his skin felt flushed and overheated as he peeled off that nightshirt that clung more like a second skin at this point and chucked it to the floor. The lack of layers, however, brought no relief from the sweltering heat that swirled in his chest.

With a heavy sigh, Lance's legs swung over the edge of his mattress, tile providing no cool consolation for his bare feet as they shuffled towards the door. Maybe a cold shower could--

\--eyes heavy from lack of sleep and last shred of coherent thought occupied with the promise of remedy for this heat, Lance didn't notice the cool body lingering outside his door until he bumped into it.

"Keith?"

Keith opened his mouth to speak, tired eyes bright and clear, before he clicked it shut again, fidgeting with his fingers as his gaze embarked on a mission to land anywhere but Lance. Even with the new bruise purpling under his eye, Lance knew that look.

"Look man, if you're going to kiss me and run off with an underground group of rebels again, could you skip the theatrics and get on with it? I'd kinda like to sleep sometime in the next millennia."

The shove aimed at his chest was weak, only really serving to brush frozen fingers across heated skin and send Lance's heart into what he was pretty sure was cardiac arrest. "Don't flatter yourself, McClain. That's not why I'm here."

"Oh really?" Lance was about 30 ticks from toppling over, but exhaustion be damned, hearing his last name roll off Keith's tongue like he was the one to blame for for all the sleepless nights and face punchings made his blood boil, and Lance wasn't entirely sure he liked it. "So do you make it a habit of lurking outside random bedroom doors at ungodly hours of the morning, or am I special?"

Keith still wouldn't look at him; Lance probably should have been more worried about the near painful thumping of his heart in his chest, but the trails where Keith's skin had brushed his chest burned. "Well, I hope you're not hear for an apology for the black eye because Shiro already tore me a new one for fighting earlier and I'm not--"

"Lance!" keith's voice was broken, biting, forcing Lance a step back with its force alone, but it was the surprising lack of fire in Keith's eyes that kept Lance from retreating further back, from shutting the door and abandoning all hope for any repreave from the heat or the hammering of his traitorous heart. "Lance, just please, let me explain. I didn't come here to fight."

Lance should not be melting under the weight of that stare. He really shouldn't if he wanted any chance of holding his own in this conversation, he knew that, but he sunk against the doorframe all the same, hoping that at least his expression was more schooled than his voice. "I'm listening."

He crossed his arms over his chest, because in reality, he really wanted to be mad at Keith for all the time he left Lance hanging by a thread, but that fire in his gut had already cooled and Keith's sleep mussed hair was kinda too fluffy for his addled brain to handle.

"Lance, I'm sorry." Keith's eyes flicked up and back to the floor in the same movement, restless fingers roving the hem of his shirt. Were the tips of his ears pink? "I'm sorry I kissed you and ran. I'm sorry I left you in the dark for months. I'm sorry I avoided you for the whole time I've been back. I wasn't thinking, and I never--I never thought that you could actually like me that way, and I was. . ."

"Being selfish and impulsive?"

Yeah, Keith was definitely blushing; Lance could see the color splashed across his cheeks as he turned to scratch the back of his head. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

Lance sighed, only managing to capture Keith's gaze for a moment before it vaulted away again. "I'm not mad, Mullet. I haven't been mad in phoebs. But I have been frustrated and confused and hurt, and if you'd done this three movements ago, you might have saved yourself the punch to the face --which I am actually kinda sorry for, by the way--but I'd much rather talk later rather than never. So, it's fine. We're fine."

The relief that flooded Keith's expression was quickly drowned in flushed cheeks and wide eyes as Lance grabbed his wrist, leading his jaw up with fingers under his chin. "But, you know, if you'd stuck around for just a few more seconds that first night," ok, maybe Lance was just a bit too smug when he could feel Keith's pulse quicken under Lance's tightening fingers, and maybe it was just a tad too fun watching Keith's brain scramble behind his eyes for words when Lance let his breath ghost over his lips, sue him; payback was due, "you might have found out that I could actually like you do much more than you thought."

Without Lance's grip to support him, Keith's knees buckled, and the pile of fluffy haired, glowering, red faced boy at his feet pulled the laughter from his lips before Lance could slap a hand over his mouth to stiffle it.

"Ass," Keith grumbled, snapping a kick at Lance's shin that had slightly more meaning behind it than his earlier attempt at a shove.

Lance had swallowed most if the snigger in his voice when he extended a helping hand downward, but Keith's pathetic hand swatting and half-hearted "Don't touch me"'s only incited Lance to do just that, but another strike at his leg actually managed to sweep it out completely from under him. When the world settled back into place, Lance was nose to nose with what he was pretty sure was one very broken Keith Kogane.

It only took a tick or two for Keith's brain to kick back into high gear, attempting noodle armed shoved at Lance again, hard enough to win him some breathing room but with nowhere near enough force to actually make Lance move. "Oh my God will you please put on a shirt? There are children that live here!"

"You and I both know Pidge has seen worse things than me shirtess."

"Get off!"

Despite the half-assed endeavour to untangle their limbs, Keith's whole body ran cold under Lance as he fit his fingers around Keith's chin, and Lance found no resistance when he pressed the barest crush of his lips to the bruise on Keith's cheek.

"I am sorry about that."

Keith huffed, but there was no vigor behind it. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

"You definitely did." The struggle was gone as Lance pulled them both to their feet, planting another quick kiss to the bruise before Keith could react. "Doesn't mean I should have done it. Or that I'm not sorry."

Another shade of red creeps up Keith's neck to the tips of his ears and Lance find himself wanting to kiss that, too.

"Ok, really, where is your shirt. I cannot deal with you like this."

"Oh, like what you see?" Keith fixes Lance with a glare that is totally not as effective with his face the shade it is; Lance pouts anyways. "The climate control in my room is busted. It's like a sauna in there."

"Really? I could almost see the breath in my room before I left."

"Well then," there's a small smile pressed against his lips when he leans down again, and Lance's stomach flips, "I have the perfect solution."


End file.
